


sending a gift

by blindmadness



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fraternity, False Accusations, Gen, Pre-Canon, dubious fraternity knowledge, dubious medical knowledge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 03:15:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9052990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blindmadness/pseuds/blindmadness
Summary: Damen Akielos isn't going to be expelled from his fraternity-- but he isn't sure that the alternative, serving as a new pledge to their rivals, is much better.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [everystarfall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/everystarfall/gifts).



> So I adjusted the prompt slightly from what was suggested, because I absolutely loved the idea of a frat AU but I'm also so fond of the intrigue and secrecy and danger of the original. Definitely requires some suspension of disbelief, I think, though I've done my best under the circumstances!
> 
> Disclaimer that I know nothing about fraternities (is it super obvious or--??), though I did research extensively to make sure that the frat names I've picked (very loosely taken from the letters in Akielos and Vere) aren't already existing ones! Warning that this does include false sexual assault allegations; I felt a little icky about writing it, but again, there's only so much to be done with adapting the canon to this setting.
> 
> Confession time: this would ideally be followed by a much longer fic that would follow the rest of the book, ideally from Laurent's POV. However, I am a person with limitations, so that fic does not yet exist, but... I would definitely never say never on it. >_> Happy Yuletide, dear recip! <3

Even after his expulsion from the house, even after a month of sleeping on Erasmus’s couch, even after standing in front of the council for his disciplinary hearing, Damen still can’t quite bring himself to believe that this is happening to him.

This isn’t meant to be his life. He’s meant to be a core member of Alpha Kappa, like his brother and his father and his grandfather and generations of Akieloses back to the founding of the fraternity. He’s meant to finally graduate next year and take his place in his father’s company, just like Kastor did, just like he’s always wanted to. Not this—not being dragged in front of the other senior members of Alpha Kappa to address his supposed wrongdoing, the things he didn’t even know were going on.

Now he’s sitting outside of the council chambers (a room used for deliberations on the future of the frat, meetings with alums and legacies and founders, and disciplinary action; a room he’s only been in twice before, once in his tour of the house on his very first day as an Alpha brother, and once earlier this semester, to discuss his future place as a senior member of the council—a place that’s now been forfeited), his head in his hands, trying to understand all that had just happened.

Here is what he has done, according to the current president of the fraternity: assaulted Jokaste Morvared, the partner of an alumnus (an alumnus who happens to be Damen’s older brother, Kastor) by forcibly kissing her, then trying to force himself onto her when she said no. She reported it to Kastor the next day (according to Makedon), whereupon Kastor had reported it to the council. Alpha Kappa’s always been progressive, as frats go; the presidents have never encouraged behavior that could lead to sexually compromising situations, and the policy when those situations do come up has been zero tolerance. So Damen had been notified of the charges, dismissed from the house, and told to return in a month for his hearing and possible sentencing.

Here is what actually happened: after half a semester of pursuit, Damen slept with Jo for the first time at Alpha Kappa’s welcome-back party in late January, and they had been casually involved ever since. They hadn’t had a label, but Damen loved her—had loved her, isn’t sure if he can say the same anymore. The night of the alleged assault, Jo had initiated what had been some of the best sex they’d ever had. She had even slept in his arms when they were done, relaxed and content. He’d watched her for nearly an hour, not wanting to look away from the beauty of her face.

He hadn’t known she was seeing Kastor, too, and had been for over a year, if Damen had heard Makedon correctly. Kastor had never mentioned Jo; Jo had never mentioned Kastor. He doesn’t know why she’d accuse him to Kastor with no provocation—he’d thought they were happy together. He doesn’t know why Kastor wouldn’t want to talk to him or get his side of the story before reporting him—he’d thought they were brothers. He’s always looked up to Kastor. Loved him. He’s always thought Kastor felt the same way.

He doesn’t understand it, any of it, and standing in front of his frat brothers—men who know him, who know that this isn’t who he is, protesting that the accusations aren’t true, giving evidence that feels weak and false—was a nightmare. As he waits for them to deliberate, he calls Kastor three times in a row; all three times, it goes to voicemail. His heart contracts until it feels small and cold and leaden in his chest.

Twenty minutes later, Damen is called back into the council room.

“Damianos Akielos,” Makedon says, his face grave (and Damen wonders if it’s just wishful thinking that he sounds as if he hates speaking the words), “the council finds you guilty.”

Damen feels the weight of the words crush him; his head spins, as if the walls of the room are crashing down around him.

 _Kastor,_ he thinks, desperate and insistent; maybe they can contact him. Maybe he’ll respond to them—maybe they’ll let Damen talk to him. Maybe he can change their minds. Surely Kastor won’t let this happen.

Then Makedon speaks again, and Damen feels his heart lift. “The usual punishment for an offense of this caliber is immediate, irreversible expulsion from the fraternity—but intercession from the accuser has provided an alternative punishment.”

 _Kastor,_ Damen thinks again, this time in relief. That’s why he couldn’t respond to Damen—he was talking to the council. He pleaded on Damen’s behalf, changed their minds. He allowed a way for Damen to come back to the frat.

And then Makedon continues: “Damianos Akielos—you are sentenced to serve for a year as a new pledge to Epsilon Rho Epsilon.”

And that’s when Damen knows that Kastor didn’t intercede for him—that he either fully believes the lie or that he’s never cared one way or the other—that he has never loved Damen, that he hates him more than Damen could ever have believed possible.

 

Epsilon Rho Epsilon was founded around the same time as Alpha Kappa; for whatever reason, they’ve always been rival fraternities, each trying to outdo the other in new pledges, service projects, and alum donations. Epsilon is the frat for legacy students, buttoned-up rich kids with sticks up their asses, a reputation for producing corrupt businessmen or conservative politicians. Alpha Kappa, historically, is more relaxed, a little more liberal, its members more oriented towards sports and parties, more the stereotypical image of a frat. No wonder the two have never gotten along—they’ve always been complete opposites.

That’s not what Damen is scared of, though. In addition to the inter-frat animosity, the founding family of Epsilon, the Veres, are businessmen who have been at odds with the Akieloses for years, crowding each other out of their competition, never negotiating or compromising. The current CEO of the company is Laurent Reginald Vere, more commonly called Reg; everyone knew that his nephew, Auguste, was going to be groomed as his successor once he graduated and earned his MBA. At least, everyone knew this until Auguste was accused of dealing illegal drugs, causing his immediate expulsion from the university and a complete disintegration of his professional reputation. It had been a dark year for the Vere company as Reg Vere pulled all the strings he could to keep his nephew out of prison, while still asserting that he would never allow him to inherit the company now.

And Damen is the one who blew the whistle on Auguste.

It was his final task for initiation into Alpha Kappa three years ago, the culmination of the traditional hazing rituals. He was instructed to break into an Epsilon office, steal a folder and a flash drive, and deliver them to the university’s front office. He’d been told exactly what to say, and he’d had no idea what was in the folder or on the USB. When he’d found out, of course he’d felt a little guilty; it wasn’t the sort of thing he would have willingly done. But surely it was for the best that Auguste Vere got found out, one way or another.

But it meant that from then on, everyone in Epsilon Rho Epsilon knows exactly who Damen is—and they’ve all loathed him beyond reason. And none of them more than Auguste’s younger brother Laurent, the new president of the fraternity.

Setting foot in the Epsilon house is close to suicide for Damen, whose face is recognizable in general, let alone for the house’s residents. He couldn’t believe it when it was suggested as his punishment by the men who were meant to be his brothers. What could they be thinking? Did they actually want him dead?

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Makedon says, his tone brisk. They retired from the more formal council chambers to the gathering room of Alpha Kappa. Much of the council has left, but Makedon, Pallas, and two others are there, clearly prepared to implement some sort of complicated plan for putting Damen in true and genuine danger. “We would never send you in there as is—you wouldn’t make it.”

Damen forbears pointing out that that is, as far as he can see it, the point. “So what are you planning?” he asks, concerned.

“You’re going to go in as someone else,” Makedon says, as if it’s completely obvious. “You’ll change the way you look, and we’ll give you a new person to pretend to be. You’ll stay with them for a year—maybe do some reconnaissance for us. We’ll give you a few tasks, once you’re ready.”

“How will it be possible?” Damen murmurs, disbelieving. “Cosmetic surgery?”

Makedon gives him a chastising look. “We’re taking this more seriously than that, Damen. You’ll change your hair. You’ll get tanner. We’ll work out with you to bulk you up more, change your shape. You’ll look completely different.”

“And—what, you’re going to give me a different life?” Damen still can’t believe it. He doesn’t want to believe it. “This is—insane. You know this is insane, don’t you?”

Makedon gives him another severe look. “If we alter you enough, there won’t be questions. Students transfer to this university all the time, and pledging one of the most popular fraternities is hardly suspicious. We’ll give you an innocuous backstory, and make sure you’ve memorized any facts that might trip you up. We have all summer to build your perfect cover. You’ll know it by heart.”

“Why?” Damen blurts out, feeling it all at once, the pressure of the disguise, the heartbreak of letting down his brothers, of them putting him in this dangerous position. “Why are you doing this?”

“You need to be punished,” Pallas puts in, tone severe. He, at least, clearly fully believes in Damen’s guilt.

“Would you rather we expel you from the fraternity in full?” Makedon asks gently, raising both eyebrows in reproach. For whatever reason, he clearly thinks this is the better option for Damen.

And in a way, he’s right. Damen’s thought about being dismissed from Alpha Kappa—having to spend his senior year more or less alone, without his brothers, the first in his family line not to be a part of the dynasty they’d created. He’s thought about how disappointed his father would be. He’s wondered if he would even let Damen work at the company anymore, if he wasn’t president of the Akielos legacy, if he wasn’t an Alpha Kappa.

He thinks, now, of what it would mean to pull one over on the new Vere heir, on all of the Epsilons who think they’re so much better than the Alphas. To prove to his own brothers what he’s made of.

“And if I did this,” he finally says, slow and uncertain. “If I pulled it off without revealing my cover—you’d reinstate me, next year?”

Makedon nods. “It was your brother’s idea,” he reminds him (as if Damen could forget), and Damen can’t tell if it’s meant as reproach or sympathy. “He agreed that if you fulfill the requirements and escape without detection, you’ll be welcomed back as president, no questions asked. You’ll graduate, a year late—you’ll have to make the academic arrangements yourself, of course—and have an exemplary record of service, no questions asked. No black marks on your record. Punishment stricken as if it never occurred.”

It sounds, Damen has to admit, too good to be true. And honestly, it probably is. Even if he gets away with it, even if he manages to pull it off—Epsilon would still know. It would come out how they had been duped, and the echoes of that would probably follow Damen and the other Alphas for a long time. He doesn’t know what the consequences would be exactly, but he’s sure they wouldn’t be good.

And there’s still the matter of Kastor, and why he had done it. Damen still wants to believe that he’s trying to look out for his little brother, but this is a disastrous move. Whatever Damen’s future might hold, even if everything is all right, even if the stain is erased, it’s a suggestion so dangerous Damen can’t believe that a brother who loved and wanted to look after him could risk it. He can maybe believe that Kastor truly thinks it might be safe, but the thought of what might happen if it isn’t—what could Damen even say? How could he get himself out of it?

On the other hand, while dismissing the thought of a brother who loved him, who wanted him to be safe and happy, is almost impossible, it’s even more so to believe that the whole frat doesn’t wish him well, would willingly send him on a near-suicide mission. Surely no matter what he’d done, they would trust that he would be all right. They would have a contingency plan to get him out of it, should things go wrong. Surely _they_ still have his best interests at heart, in the end.

The truth, though, is that Damen doesn’t think he has a choice. Alpha Kappa is his life, his promise for the future, any future that he may want. It’s all he’s ever wanted. If he can do anything for things to be normal again, does he have a choice? Can he go on any other way?

“All right,” he finally says, looking Makedon in the eye, embracing whatever fate has in store for him. “I accept. What do I need to do?”

 

The plan is so intricate Damen can hardly believe it, though he supposes he wouldn’t want to leave his safety and future to a plan that wasn’t.

Damen is meant to disappear for a few months as he learns his new life and changes his appearance. He lives in Erasmus’s boyfriend’s apartment during this time; it’s comically oversized, given how rich the man is, and Damen figures it’s a decent idea for someone other than the Alpha council to know what’s happening with him. (Erasmus, to his disappointment, seems sort of delighted by the whole thing. He’s a freshman Alpha pledge that lives outside of the house, a young sheltered student who longs for something more dramatic in his life than dating a much older, absurdly wealthy man. Damen barely understands him, but Erasmus is the kindest person he’s ever met in his life and it’s impossible not to love him.)

He’s kept his hair buzzed short ever since his time in the military, but four months is enough time to allow the thick, dark curls he had as a child to begin to grow back in. His face does look different with it—younger, fuller, less dangerous. He also spends at least an hour every day tanning, turning his already dark skin even darker; most of the rest of his time is dedicated to working out, making his already muscular body even bulkier. Even within a month, the change in his appearance is dramatic.

He learns the new life that his cover has been given—his name is Damon, a little too close for his comfort (but Makedon points out that it’s a common name, and it’ll make it easier for him to avoid slipping up). He’s an only child from a middle-class family, he grew up on the other side of the country, he has divorced parents and is studying engineering. The Alphas have come up with a million other little details designed to flesh out the role, make him real. Damon even has social media profiles, curated carefully by the Alpha council, designed to appear several years old, complete with a random assortment of friends and followers (people who owe the Alphas favors, Damen assumes).

(Damen’s own social media is being monitored by his best friend Nikandros, with a cover story about traveling abroad; this, in Damen’s eyes, is the most foolproof portion of the plan, given that Nik could impersonate Damen in his sleep. Still, he can’t help but feel a little betrayed by Nik’s collusion. He had thought that Nik hated the plan.

“I do hate the plan,” Nik told him when they met to plan the details. “I hate it a lot. I think it’s an awful idea, and I don’t believe for a moment that you ever assaulted Jo. This whole thing is a farce.”

“So why—” Damen asked, bewildered, and Nik rolled his eyes.

“I was the only dissenting voice, but they still agreed you had to do this—and you consented to it. You’re going to do it regardless. I figure you have a better chance of, you know… _surviving_ this whole stupid thing if I help you. So I’m going to do my damndest to make sure you get through this in one piece.” And Damen appreciates it more than he can say.)

For his own part, Damen manages to sign up for a few online classes under his real name (on a laptop encrypted by the most skilled of the Alpha compsci majors), as well as making note of a few intro classes other Epsilons are in, classes so big that attendance isn’t noted and no one will notice an extra body in the lecture hall. It’s a big enough university that that should be enough to keep his cover.

So he spends the summer memorizing, and he and the other Alpha make their plans, and Kastor (to whom Damen still hasn’t spoken since the beginning of the whole disaster, and he’s far from sure he wants to) is covering for Damen with their father, and as they come closer to the start of the semester, Damen has to admit that things are looking more and more foolproof. He’s beginning, for the most part, to believe that they may actually be able to pull this off. Of course, though, he does have one more question.

“I do look different,” he says to Makedon as August rolls around. And it does—he’s gained pounds of muscle, his skin is several shades darker, and his hair does make the shape of his face look different. However, he’s still recognizably, well, himself. People who know him would doubletake when they saw him in the street, sure, but they would still recognize him. And he’s sure that with the GPA stats Epsilon Rho Epsilon publishes every semester, at least one of them must be smart enough to know who he is. “But I still just look like a different version of me. How are you going to change that?”

“That’s why we’re meeting today,” Makedon says, and Damen can’t help noticing that he looks a little nervous. He feels it himself, too, as he watches what’s accompanied Makedon to the apartment: ice packs, a first aid kit, several sheaves of newspaper, a large and powerful Alpha, and a now-former Alpha who’s going to medical school in the fall.

“What’s going on?” Damen asks, trying to give Makedon a coaxing smile. “Are you actually going to give me cosmetic surgery? I’m not sure I consent to that.”

Makedon’s expression is solemn, though, and he shakes his head. “You’ll need to sit up—and I’ll hold you down, brace your head. We’ll take you to a doctor after to make sure you’re all right—and we have something for you to bite down on—but we need it to heal crooked, and we need the swelling to still be there in two weeks.”

The words ring in Damen’s mind for a moment—cause for even more concern than ever—and then, like a bolt, it hits him, and as he looks from the fists of the huge Alpha to the calculation on the med student’s face, his jaw falls open in horror.

 _No._ The word is on the tip of Damen’s tongue, ready to be discharged at the total craziness of the idea—but the truth is that he’s come so far, so ready to actually put this plan into action, he can’t bring himself to say it. And anyway, it’s not like he’s never had his nose broken before.

“All right,” he says, voice barely above a whisper, and closes his eyes. “Let’s do this.”

 

The break, as promised, heals crooked but safe, and two weeks later, when Damen is approaching the Epsilon Rho Epsilon house as a new pledge, his nose is swollen, set differently in his face, his features obscured by still-colorful bruising that successfully turns him into someone with only a passing resemblance to Damianos Akielos.

Damen’s passed by the Epsilon house dozens of times, but never looked at it too closely. Whereas the Alpha Kappa house is classically designed, a brick house with broad columns, the Epsilon house is more elegant, drawn along slim lines, the columns thinner and paler, the entire house looking as if it’s been carved out of marble. It’s beautiful, but cold and unwelcoming, and Damen feels a shiver as he crosses the threshold, as if the temperature inside will be that of a freezer.

The inside is, of course, pristinely and spectacularly appointed. Every curve of the banisters, every corner of the room, every single ornamental knickknack (of which there are very few; it’s a minimalist paradise) has clearly been chosen in the height of taste and elegance, the sort of stifling display of wealth indicative of people who want everyone in their living spaces to know exactly how much money they have.

Damen hates it, of course—it has none of the warmth or character of the Alpha house, which he adores. Still, he can’t help but be just a little impressed. If nothing else, he never could have dreamed that a frat house could _stay_ this pristine.

He rushed the fraternity last week, as planned, and got his invitation to enter the house yesterday; today’s the day when he finds out whether it’s worked, whether he’ll be able to join the fraternity. So when he enters the house and moves towards the enormous ballroom at the back, it’s alongside nearly a dozen other pledges, many of whom are gaping in awe at the surroundings. It occurs to him after a moment that middle-class Damon, from a small town on the other side of the country, probably would do the same, so he did his best to look bewildered by the staggering display of wealth around him as he makes his way to the pledging ceremony.

The ballroom is, of course, as absurdly minimalist, pale-toned, and cavernous as the rest of the house. It’s lined with light fixtures, elaborate flower-shaped lightbulb holders with even more elaborately spiraled silver wall hangings. The colors are all pale, ivory and icy blue, the lights dimmed just enough to allow the afternoon sun to perfectly illuminate the colors (did they, Damen wonders in bewilderment, time this ceremony perfectly in order to create that effect?). And along one of the walls is a long pale table, lined with the senior members of Epsilon Rho Epsilon.

And seated in the center seat is the president of the fraternity, Laurent Vere.

Damen doesn’t look at him too closely, though he can’t help a pang of curiosity. He’s seen him before, of course, both in person—though not since the discrediting of Auguste three years ago—and in the form of online or newspaper pictures, but of course circumstances are different now.

Laurent Vere looks like his brother, but thinner, more arrogant, and less approachable, more like a statue than a human man. He’s so pale he practically blends into the paint of the wall behind the council—light blond hair hanging straight and severe to his chin, pale eyes sitting in his elegantly chiseled face (from this distance Damen can’t tell their color; blue or grey, most likely). He’s actually wearing a suit, expensive-looking and deep blue in color, over a crisp white shirt buttoned all the way up. While all of the Epsilon council members are dressed formally, he’s the most so by far, even though it’s late summer and swelteringly hot outside of the icebox air conditioning of the Epsilon house.

He’s handsome, of course, in such a delicate, elegant way that the word “beautiful” could accurately be used, but the entire image he projects is such that no one except the bravest or most foolish could even think about acting on all that beauty.

Damen had barely known Auguste, but he remembers him as smiling near-constantly, never formal, always friendly. It seems, he thinks with no small amount of bitterness, that he and Kastor aren’t the only pair of legacy siblings who are near opposites.

The other council members have a similar haughty arrogance in their postures and the tilt of their chins. Just being here makes Damen’s skin crawl, the fear that one of them might recognize him; he doesn’t even want to imagine what they would do to him.

The other pledges line up against the wall as Damen does, all in a row. Some of them look arrogant too, their posture speaking of breeding and money; they’ll fit in fine here, he thinks wryly. But there’s more of a variety than he would have expected—a few boys dressed more casually, some dressed well but in a less pretentious sort of way, some trying to look unimpressed and failing, some looking around with huge eyes, some looking downright bored.

There’s no formal beginning to the process; the council just waits until all the would-be pledges have gone quiet. Laurent is the one who begins speaking, his voice so quiet that everyone practically stops breathing to hear it. He reads off a list of names, perhaps half of the pledges that are here, and pauses afterward, just a moment, just enough to make Damen concerned—his alter ego’s name wasn’t on the list—but then he says, just as softly, “You’re free to leave.”

Damen feels the breath rush out of him in relief—he’s in, it seems—and he shoots glances sideways at the boys to whom those names must belong. Most of them look crushed, disappointed and sad and angry, and after a moment of shock, they slowly begun to trickle out of the room, shoulder slumped, expressions dejected.

The others turn towards the council table, a moment of anticipation filling the air like a sharp inhale. Damen feels more than a little breathless himself. Is this it?

Laurent lets the moment hang a little longer, then—is that a hint of a smile on his face?—he continues. “To the rest of you gentlemen—welcome. You are new pledges of Epsilon Rho Epsilon, the foremost fraternity on campus, and one of the finest institutions in the world.” Damen just barely manages to stop himself from biting his tongue before protesting; his first test, he supposes.

“Your time here is still far from guaranteed, of course—your initial probationary period will last through the end of the semester, and at the end of the year, should the council deem it deserved, you will receive full status as a fraternity brother. We expect you to abide at all times by the Epsilon Rho Epsilon code of conduct and all of the bylaws of the fraternity as well as the university, and to at all times conduct yourself in a manner befitting the title of Epsilon. If you are found to have fallen short of expectations…” Laurent shrugs, the gesture slight, elegant, and deeply suggestive.

“During this probationary semester, you should prepare to undergo tests of your worthiness and belonging. These tests may come without warning, and the rulings on whether they have been passed are final. You will also be assigned to a senior brother during your full first year to serve as your sponsor; they will guide you through the expectations and trials that may face you during your time here. The choice is random, and barring exceptional circumstances, these assignments may not be reconsidered.” He pauses, taking a long, slow look around the room. Damen does his best to keep his gaze level and unflinching when Laurent’s eyes briefly meet his, then move on.

“This is the last time you can choose to leave before you make your decision. If you stay, your trials may begin as soon as you’re shown to your room. Be prepared. I’ll allow you a moment to think about what this will mean for you and if you’re suited for the decision. Don’t rush the choice. We’ll wait.”

Laurent Vere may be, if his appearance is any indication, a cold-blooded son of a bitch, but Damen has to give him this: he’s a born showman, subtle and compelling and impossibly charismatic. He doesn’t expect any of the other boys to so much as blink during the several-minute pause Laurent gives them, and he isn’t surprised when it passes and no one has moved.

There’s the tiniest little quirk of Laurent’s mouth that might have possibly been a smile, before he inclines his head in a brief nod. “Very well. No one has made special requests to sponsor any of the pledges, so the choice of sponsors will be random.” He looks down at what Damen assumes are two lists of names and begins to read, pairing each new pledge with one of the council members, each of whom indicates himself as their name is called. Several of the pledges look pleased, several terrified.

The last name on the list is that of Damon Zane. Laurent reads it off with barely a flinch, then turns to the opposite list before being interrupted by a dark-haired brother two seats away.

“Actually, Laurent, we received an alum request just before this meeting to assign you to serve as sponsor to this pledge.”

The silence that follows is so profound a pin dropping would sound deafening.

 _No,_ Damen thinks, wild, horrified, _no, no, that wasn’t part of the plan._

Laurent’s expression had been coolly remote; now, it drops about thirty more degrees right into “frigid beyond belief.” “Excuse me?” he says, very soft.

The council member looks terribly uncomfortable, clearly having expected a reaction of this sort but still unprepared for how it would feel to have that subzero gaze turned onto him. “I—I’m sorry,” he says uneasily. “It came in just before we went in, otherwise I would have told you—” He casts a glance at the room, realizing belatedly that he’s coming off as profoundly unprofessional in front of new pledges, and he drops his voice—still not enough, though, to hide the whisper he aims at Laurent: “It was your uncle.”

This silence is even more profound; Damen sees, out of the corner of his eye, a few pledges exchange glances and shoot covert looks at him. Surely they’re wondering what it is about Damon Zane—huge, dark, visibly older Damon Zane—that’s made Reg Vere take a particular interest in pairing him with his nephew and heir.

Damen’s wondering that himself. _Reg Vere._ Why, he wonders uncomfortably, does he care? Could it be he’s found out who Damen is already? Is this a weird type of familial revenge already being enacted?

At the council table, Laurent’s absolutely still, until finally he pivots his gaze over to Damen. His eyes are cold, his face still in those frigid, forbidding lines. Damen feels pinned, like a butterfly on a corkboard, but he forces himself to stay in character—Damon Zane would look uncomfortable, uncertain, nervous, and the act isn’t hard to pull up. But he can’t stop himself from meeting Laurent’s gaze resolutely, whatever else his body language or expression may be doing.

After what feels like an eternity, Laurent jerks his chin briefly, once, sharp. “Fine,” he says, his voice even cooler. “I will serve as sponsor for the pledge Damon Zane.”

With that, it appears the meeting is over; those council members who were assigned to sponsor pledges approach them, introducing themselves and taking them out. The other council members trickle out as well, glancing over their shoulders as they go in open curiosity—until the only people left in the cavernous ballroom are Damen and Laurent.

They stand there for a moment, Damen afraid to make the first move, Laurent as still as a block of ice. Being alone with him, undergoing his scrutiny, makes Damen question every aspect of his disguise, the wisdom of the whole plan. He wonders just how dire it’ll be if he’s recognized. He wonders if he’ll be able to keep up the act around Laurent at all times. He wonders, again, why Reg Vere insisted on this arrangement.

After what feels like a thousand years, Laurent gets to his feet in one smooth motion, jerking his head towards the door. “Follow me,” he says, curt and brisk, and heads out. Damen follows, and he wonders what the hell he’s gotten himself into.


End file.
